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2012-09-28 The Good Mark - Huntress 2
Claremont Riding Academy, also known as Claremont Stables, in mid-morning is a busy place. Serving the needs of the mounted police and civilians alike, it's perpetually busy, whether stabling horses, providing riding lessons, or simply selling goods in relation to the care and feeding of horses. Calling around to the very, very few such places still left within Manhattan proper will yield a young woman working at Claremont who remembers a tanned-skin young man with a shaggy grey dog, who had only accompanied the man once, but it stuck out in the young woman's mind. She's familiar with horses, not dogs, but it reminded her of a Malamute or a Husky or something. This is one of those times that Kit is without Devil by his side. Kit is actually somewhat careful with taking Devil out in public, though when the man is injured, the wolf will never take no for an answer. Thankfully Kit is whole, now, having been magically healed by Rain after that fracas with the helicopters and the vans and--everything. He's in the store part of the complex, filling out some paperwork at the counter after having laid down a good chunk of cash. He's having some supplies for Hero delivered to a warehouse with access to the subway tunnels. It's a pain to get it all down there, which is why he only does this once a month. After having paid and signed and everything else, he bids goodbye to the young woman working the register, and starts to leave when his eyes fall on a crossbow bolt. An all-too-familiar crossbow bolt, tucked on a shelf at what would be nearly perfectly eye-level for him. And there's a note wrapped around it. Making sure no one's watching, he surreptitiously grabs the thing as he heads outside onto the sidewalk, and only then will he unfurl it. Lips purse in distaste as he's asked for a meeting. Hmm. The note crumpled and shoved into his pocket, the bolt--not /shoved/ into his pocket, but carefully slipped in, as he heads for the meeting spot. Huntress has been waiting at the prearranged place since she 'browsed' the shop mere minutes after they opened and dropped off the bolt. She's hiding in a fire extinguisher system closet, watching the empty spaces in the parking garage, her own rental car left two levels down from here. Considering the time of day, she knew she couldn't traipse about in her costume, so she's had to resort to wearing her black leather motorcycle jacket and black jeans, her motorcycle helmet held in one hand to act in place of her mask. In her other hand is her crossbow, and she REALLY hopes she doesn't end up having to use it. Come on, Kit. Please, for the love of Pete, FIND the damned bolt... Of all the times to leave Devil home. Kit presses his lips together as he tries to keep himself from wishing for things to be other than how they are, and he hurries up the cement staircase in the corner of the parking garage. Not the one closest to where she said to meet, of course--nor the one farthest, for that matter. Both seem obvious. Instead, he uses one somewhere in the middle, walking carefully so his sneakers make no noise on the cement. When he gets to her level, he gets low, so he can just peer over the top of the steps. Just her; none of the cars feel like they "shouldn't" be here, and there's no one else he can hear or see. Well, okay then. Time to get this road on the show. He'll back down a bit, then walk normally, letting his footsteps echo softly as he heads back up the staircase once more to herald his approach. At the top of the stairs, he angles toward her, though looks around now and then--just to be sure. "I'm here," he says calmly and evenly, letting the acoustics of the parking structure carry his voice. Huntress quickly puts on the motorcycle helmet when she hears the approaching footsteps, glancing out of the fire closet again to make sure it IS Kit out there. Once she's sure of it, she steps out as stealthily as she can considering the creaky old metal door. Aka, not stealthy at all. "You got my note." She's clearly got her crossbow in hand, but is keeping aimed down at the concrete floor for the moment. "Yeah, got your message," replies Kit, arching one brow as his eyes narrow. "Mind telling me what I'm here for, and what /that's/ for?" A nod to the crossbow. "I'm unarmed, after all..." He also doesn't sound all that happy to be here, but at least he /is/ here. He isn't carrying his backpack, or much of anything else, and there are no tell-tale bulges in his jeans pockets to suggest he's carrying anything like a weapon, though there's a small cylindrical bulge in his right pocket where he'd slipped the crossbow bolt used to get his attention. "For anyone that might have followed me here." Huntress reaches behind her back with her free hand and pulls out the file given to her by those jerks on the rooftop. She holds it out for Kit to take. "I was ... asked by a group of VERY pushy accountants to do something for them that have no intention of doing. But I don't know how to get in touch your friend to warn him, so this was the best I could do. Someone wants him dead. And they want ME to do it." Eyes narrow when the woman reaches behind her back, and for a beat Kit tenses a bit. He doesn't really relax fully, though he does step forward to take the manila envelope. He doesn't say anything to her until he's had a chance to open it up and flick through the contents. He doesn't study them; he doesn't need to, really. A quick finger-walk through the photos and documents and so on tells him all he needs to know. "Sounds like they already have," he says, peering up at her through his eyelashes for a moment before looking back down into the envelope. "This man was attacked, just last night. By a woman on motorcycle, wearing a distinctive purple and black costume, that was almost as revealing as it was concealing." Though said calmly, it's also said as he looks back up to her again, and he adds, "And crossbow bolts were recovered. Ones that looked exactly like the one you left for me." Huntress's eyes widen behind her motorcycle helmet. "FUCK." How the HELL did they get her bolts? Stupid, that should be the LAST thing to worry about. "Is he all right?" Hopefully an atypical question coming from Mandrake's apparent assassin. "You know that wasn't me." "I don't /know/ anything of the kind," replies Kit, tucking the envelope under his left arm. "By all accounts, the would-be assassin was a lot less talkative, so I'm inclined to believe you." A twitch of a smile pulling at one corner of his lips, there; it's not much, but it's noticeable. "Less of a potty-mouth, too--but that aside, he's fine. His friend is in critical condition. Apparently a bolt only /just/ missed his friend's vital organs. He himself got one in the thigh. A clinic we go to sorted him out and transferred his friend to a hospital so they can keep closer eye on him." "There any way you can put some kind of protection detail on him? I get the feeling that these assholes won't keep trying until he's dead." The one thing Huntress hates the most about motorcycle helmets is that they limit her ability to HEAR things. It's forcing her to scan their surroundings almost constantly. "I know someplace safe, but it's also up to him," says Kit, then he shrugs his right shoulder. "He was pretty shaken up by the whole ordeal, so we didn't get a chance to talk about it very much." A beat's pause as he shifts his weight to his right leg. "So one question is what are /you/ going to do about it? I mean, if all of this is true, they made you out to be the fall woman." He cants his head a little, keeping his eyes on her, though he does use his ears to keep track of their immediate surroundings. "I know. I'm trying to get in touch with someone who can help me dig up retaliatory dirt on them to get them to back the hell off," Huntress replies. "Or better, disappear forever. I do NOT take kindly to people holding shit over me like this." Hey, maybe she can ask Oracle to hack their computers in return and wipe out every bit of dirt they think they have on her. She just frigging wishes Oracle would answer her damned phone calls. "In the meantime... " she shrugs one shoulder, not even sure if it's safe to return to Gotham. "You really think they could be gotten to that easily?" Kit asks, arching a brow again. "I mean, if they have the resources to mimic you so well, down to the bolts you use for that thing..." Another nod to the crossbow. "I mean, they assembled all of that in--what, a day? Either they were already banking on you turning them down, or they have crazy resources. Heck, even if they /did/ have all of this prepared--well, I'd tell your friend to do whatever it is they do carefully." Keeping his eyes on her, he reaches his right hand up to idly scratch his cheek. "I don't know. But I'm willing to try. It's better than just letting frame me." She looks around again, then realizing that the conversation is pretty much over with, Huntress takes a step back away from Kit. She doesn't respond to Kit's words about telling her 'friend' to be careful. She figures if HAL didn't know to be careful, the computer-voice wouldn't still be around. "Hey--I might know some people who can help. I'll send them your way, yeah?" says Kit, adding, "They're about as trustworthy as anyone can be, and you're right--it's better than any of us just sitting back and letting these jerks bowl over everyone." And no, he doesn't say how these friends of his will find her. Partly because it /is/ getting time to end the conversation, as conspicuous as this is, and partly because if the costumed crowd didn't know how to find one another in a pinch, well--he wouldn't be /here/. Huntress says, "That would be great." She looks around again, then adds, "I'm not usually very good about asking for help," or accepting it, "but I think this time it's WAY over my pay grade. And I'm screwed if I don't. I, um, I have a burner phone if you want the number." Kit nods once. "Yeah, that might help," he says, then nods again when she recites the number. "I'll remember and pass it on. In the meantime, find a good hidey-hole and get in touch with whatever other friends you have. This will get worse before it gets better." Knowing she's not one for long and drawn-out farewells, he'll turn to head back the way he came, sneakers scuffing softly on the cement. "Yeah. I'm gonna do that." What sucks about that is Huntress doesn't HAVE any place to hole up and hide. She watches him turn to leave and ducks back into the fire closet to pull off the motorcycle helmet and wait for Kit to be long gone before she emerges and and walks nonchalantly toward her rental car. Maybe she can get a hold of someone that'll understand. Lois... HELL no. The gargoyle-doc? he IS here in NYC, but... no, better not. He doesn't need a shitstorm being brought to him. Someone who can offer hiding AND protection. Maybe Robin. Yeah. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs